


Stand Alone

by InsightfulInsomniac



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Secret Relationship, Supporting Character Death, neither of them die, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-18 14:05:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14854208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsightfulInsomniac/pseuds/InsightfulInsomniac
Summary: War reveals the rawest of human emotions and forms bonds that are virtually unbreakable.Phil Lester joins the Airborne to earn the same respect his brother holds in the eyes of his father.Daniel Howell joins the Airborne to write about it all.It’s a time when those rendezvous are dangerous, but then again, they can die at any moment.





	1. Pride and Masochism

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to the lovely Grandpharents™️ group chat for encouraging me to write this fic!  
> Most of the people and some of the places in this story are fictionalized to maintain respect for the real veterans, but it will be as historically accurate as possible. For anyone who notices, yes, I am following the events of Easy Company.

**Camp Toombs, Georgia: Summer 1942**

It already seems like it has been years since Phil has last hugged his mother, heard his father’s deep belly laugh, or even seen his brother. The worn picture of his family in his right pocket holds fond memories, and the metal cross hangs heavy around his neck.

Phil thought that life couldn’t get any worse the day Martyn left — the blurry haze he remembers is fleeting, but the sobs he heard through the wall that night creeped under his skin, and he found tears streaming down his face until he fell into a fitful sleep.

Martyn had sent Phil one letter since he’d been in direct combat, and from what he wrote, war is hell. Not that he didn’t suspect that already, but when your brother writes about watching his friend bleed out on the African sand, all he can think about is _what if it was Martyn instead._

Now it’s his turn, and he’s seriously wondering why the hell he chose to join the Airborne.

Phil loves his brother, and always has. However, with his perfect blond hair, athleticism, and collected, not-socially-awkward personality, it is hard to not let resentment seep in from time to time.

When Martyn enlisted, his father was so proud. Phil, with his raven hair, inherent clumsiness, and near inability to talk normally to anyone, can count the number of times he’s heard that tone of pride in his father’s voice be directed towards him.

Maybe he was exaggerating things, but when Life Magazine printed an article on “the best of the best soldiers,” Phil didn’t hesitate to join the Airborne. If nothing else, the look on his father’s face was worth it all.

Now, standing in a slightly musty barrack, dozens of cots lined along the walls, Phil wants to run all the way back to Massachusetts.

To earn his jump wings and be an official part of the parachute infantry, he’d have to complete months of physical and artillery training, and if he didn’t die by then, jump training. To learn how to jump out of an airplane. Into enemy fire.

What was he thinking?

He flings the few items he is allowed to keep onto his cot, sighing as he scans the large room once more. The rumble in his stomach leads him to the mess hall, where he mindlessly walks through the lunch line to receive a weak excuse for spaghetti, but it’s food nonetheless.

The hall is unbelievably crowded and exceptionally loud, effectively overwhelming Phil. It appears as if the men who are eating have been here long enough to already make friends, or have much better social skills than Phil.

There’s a few tables against the perimeter of the room that are occupied by fewer people, but they seem to be in deep conversation, and Phil doesn’t want to interrupt that. He’s close to just dropping his tray and running from the hall, the camp, and anything to do with war in general, but he spots a table in the back corner of the room occupied by only one person.

Phil musters all of his resolve, steeling himself to make the walk towards the lone man, brunet curls hunched over a journal, pencil scratching away as his lunch sits abandoned next to him.

He clears his throat as to not startle the other man, and Curly Hair looks up, expectant.

Phil motions to the bench across from him. “Hi, um, can I sit here?”

Curly Hair nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Sure. Go ahead.”

“Thanks,” Phil mutters, glancing up as Curly Hair puts his pencil down.

“I’m Daniel,” Curly Hair introduces, holding out his hand for Phil to shake. “Private Howell.”

Phil takes his hand with a relieved smile. Maybe he’ll manage to get through lunch after all. “I’m Phil, or Private Lester.”

“Nice to meet you, Phil,” Daniel replies, his grin deepening the prominent dimples in his face. “Why are you here? Proving something to yourself, to your father, or are you just a sick masochist who wants to put yourself through this hell?”

Phil snorts. “I’ve got a perfect older brother who enlisted a year before me.”

“Mm,” Dan hums, pointing his pencil in Phil’s direction. “A new reason, but no less valid.”

Phil shrugs. “It’s my own pride at the root of it all. How about you, Daniel? Here for the fun of it?”

“Call me Dan,” he corrects, but smiles as he continues. “I’m that sick masochist I was talking about.”

“Oh, are you an athlete?” Phil asks, and for a fleeting moment, he wonders if he mistakenly chose the biggest jock in the company to befriend.

“Hell no,” Dan scoffs. “Physical activity has never been my forte. I’m a writer.”

“I’m still not connecting the masochism.”

Dan chuckles. “I’m going to write a book on war. I don’t think people at home really know what it takes to protect the country. They all just bang their war drums without understanding the sacrifice.”

“That’s admirable,” Phil comments. “Good for you.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got some daddy issues thrown in there too, so it seemed like the best option at the time,” Dan explains, ducking his eyes back down to his journal.

“Don’t let me distract you,” Phil hastily remarks, seeing the shift in his focus. “I just needed a place to eat my lunch without getting assaulted.”

“God, I relate to that,” Dan laughs. “You always have a place at my table, Phil Lester.”

Phil grins, feeling an unexplainable heat rush to his face. “I appreciate that a lot. We can be socially awkward together.”

“Absolutely,” Dan agrees, picking up his pencil again. “At least for the time being, that is. We should probably know the names of the guys we’ll be living and dying next to for the next few years.”

Phil laughs slightly, tongue poking between his teeth. “Yeah, I guess that’d be helpful.”

Dan chuckles, looking up at Phil again. “Now be quiet and eat your lunch. I’ve got to write about my new socially awkward friend, Phil Lester.”


	2. Arrangements and Weekend Passes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New training assignments and a brief look into Dan’s past leave Phil reeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time skips are a thing that I do, unfortunately or fortunately.

Hands shaking, heart pounding. The heavy weight of a gun in his hands and the pounding of hundreds of feet rattle Phil’s brain inside of his skull, running blindly towards the next obstacle.

A horrid smell wafts from the shallow pit ahead, and what can only be described as a bloody mess barrels into view. There are ropes stretched above it, meaning that they are supposed to crawl through it.

He can hear some of the other men choking on the scent as they approach it, and he fights back his own urge to vomit. From somewhere around him, he can hear another soldier speak.

“That’s pig guts, boy.”

 _God,_ Phil thinks. _Why did I get myself into this?_

Nonetheless, he steels himself to slide into the ditch filled with blood, mud, and pig organs, army crawling through the mess. Curses of disgust echo around him, but Phil’s too busy holding his breath to express his extreme distaste for the situation.

It feels like an eternity before he makes it to the other end of the obstacle, shaking the stench out of his mind but definitely not off of his skin. Someone behind him is definitely vomiting, but Phil’s learned to simply push forward.

 _Currahee,_ he thinks, remembering the company’s motto. _Stand alone._

Scaling the incoming wooden wall with ease, Phil feels a surge of pride rush through him. A few weeks ago, that wall seemed impossible. Now, it is merely another obstacle to get to the end, where the company can rest for however long it takes for the Captain to give them another grueling order.

As soon as they’re dismissed, most of the men head for the barracks. Phil begins to walk in the same direction when he feels a hand on his back — a quick pat, then it slides up to grip his shoulder.

“Hey, buddy. Need a shower? ‘Cause I just crawled through pig’s blood; I don’t know about you.”

Phil grins over at Dan, who gently nudges him in the direction of the showers. He’s got blood and dirt smeared across his face, a small splatter dangerously close to creeping into his mouth. Phil has the strange urge to reach up and thumb it away, but he balls his hands into fists and leaves them at his sides instead.

It takes him a minute to realize that they’ve slowed to a walk, and that Dan’s hand is no longer on his shoulder. He misses the contact for a fleeting second, but Dan opens the door to the showers and motions him inside, so Phil just smiles and thanks him.

They’re not the only ones in there by far, but as usual, the pair chooses a less-occupied corner of the room, throwing their dirty clothes to the side.

“You’re getting better at climbing the wall,” Dan comments randomly, and Phil snorts.

“You were watching? He laughs, and Dan smiles.

“I was a little bit behind you. You looked like a really gangly spider.”

“In a good way,” he clarifies after a moment, and Phil laughs again.

“Thanks, I guess,” he replies, passing the bar of soap to Dan. “I’m still an awful shot.”

Dan shrugs. “Hey, it’s not the only skill you need. Don’t stress about it.”

“You’re one to talk. You’re something of a sharpshooting prodigy.”

“It’s just luck,” Dan answers softly, ducking his head. “I don’t like it. I don’t think I could put a bullet through someone else’s skull.”

Phil shudders at the thought. “Nope, no. I couldn’t either.”

Dan laughs loudly, somewhat maniacally. “Then what the hell are we doing here?”

Phil sighs. “I don’t even know.”

******

A few days later, as Phil’s getting dressed in his PT gear, Captain Stewart marches into barracks.

“Private Lester?”

One sock on and one left laying on his cot, Phil immediately stands to attention. “Sir!”

“Instead of reporting to PT, report to medical training.”

“Yes, sir,” Phil responds, confusion sinking in. Medical training?

Phil quickly pulls on his other sock and his boots, jogging to the tent that houses training for combat medics. He recognizes most of the faces, but it’s obvious that he’s the only new guy that has arrived since training started.

“Captain Stewart recommended you to be a medic, Private,” Lieutenant Darby states, handing him a thick notebook filled with diagrams of the human body and of possible wounds. “If you’ve got a problem with the assignment, let him know.”

Dumbfounded, Phil merely accepts the materials and finds an empty seat, tuning into the instructor demonstrating how to insert plasma into the bloodstream. It almost makes him queasy, but one thought suddenly breaks through the foggy blur of the past few minutes.

_Medics rarely have to use their weapons._

******

“So they just stick you in a room with the other medics and tell you that’s your job from now on?” Dan asks, taking a sip of his water. The chatter of the mess hall is muffled by the wooden walls of the building they sit against, having taken their dinners outside to get away from the stuffy, loud atmosphere inside.

Phil nods, swallowing a mouthful of bread. “It was so weird.”

“Guess they need all the help they can get,” Dan comments softly, spooning a scoop of vegetables into his mouth. “But hey, that’s what you wanted, right? Not to use your weapon?”

“Yeah,” Phil sighs. “I just feel like I’m not doing anything to help fight now.”

“Phil,” Dan sets down his spoon, staring over at him. “Medics are the most important part of a unit. You’re going to be saving people.”

Phil smiles slightly, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “I’m scared.”

“We’re all scared,” Dan replies. “It’s all part of the game.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, finishing their meals and relaxing against the building.

“A bunch of the guys are going into town with their weekend passes,” Dan comments out of the blue. “We could go.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Dan Howell?” Phil exclaims in mock shock, earning a laugh from him.

“Oh, fuck off. We could go to a bar or something. The movies. Just get out of this hellscape.”

“You got a girl in town?” Phil asks, because Dan’s never showed interest in leaving on a weekend pass before.

“Nah, just feel like a change of scenery,” he shrugs. “All these guys going and getting attached before they ship off to die... it’s not a good idea.”

“I don’t know how many of them are getting particularly attached,” Phil adds, and Dan laughs.

“That’s probably true,” he agrees. “That’s not me, though. I’ve only had one girl.”

“Really?” Phil asks. He never got around as much as some of the other guys in the company, but he’s had a few girlfriends and hookups over the years.

“Her name was Elizabeth Thompson,” Dannods. “Lizzie. We were set to get engaged.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Dan sighs. “I enlisted. She supported me, but we had a long heart-to-heart the day after. We both said some things that we can’t unsay now, and I think we’re both okay with that. We’re still friends.”

“Do you write to her?”

“I never knew you were so nosy, Phil Lester,” Dan grins, and Phil flushes in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry —“

“I’m kidding, Phil. It’s nice to talk about it,” he smiles, putting his hand on Phil’s bent knee. “Yes, I write her. She’s really the only one I write to.”

“Oh.”

“I might send a letter or two to my mom, but I don’t even know if she reads them. It just feels like something I should do, you know?” Dan remarks, sounding a little bit strained. “It’s like some habit I picked up just because everyone else writes their mother.”

“You could write my mom,” Phil quips in an attempt to lighten the sudden tension. “Kath would love to have another son to worry about.”

“That doesn’t sound like it would be good for her health,” he scoffs, but smiles nonetheless. “Have you told her about me?”

“Have I told her about my only friend? Yes,” Phil confirms, as if it was obvious. “She wants to know if you’ll visit sometime.”

Dan grins. “I’d love to. I’ll have to introduce you to Lizzie, too. She’s basically my family.”

“It’s nice to see that you two still have a good relationship,” Phil says. “That’s rare.”

“Yeah, well, we might still get married after the war.”

Phil’s heart stops for a moment, and he feels an unexpected tightness in his chest. “What? I thought you said you were just friends?”

“Is someone jealous?” Dan teases, and Phil blanches, unable to speak.

“I promise you’re still my best friend, Phil. Even Lizzie couldn’t replace you.”

Dan’s smiling as if he doesn’t realize everything he just insinuated. “You okay?”

“But you two have so much history!” Phil blurts out, and Dan laughs.

“There’s something about shared experiences, Phil Lester, that creates an even stronger bond than love.”

“You should write that one down,” Phil jokes, but Dan just raises an eyebrow and pulls his small notebook and pencil out of his pocket, flipping to an empty page.

“You didn’t have to put my name in there,” Phil remarks, rolling his eyes at Dan’s very literal transcription.

He closes his notebook and slips it away without another word, blankly gazing out at the grounds of the camp.

“It’s an agreement,” he says softly, almost at a whisper. “The possible marriage. She’s a good friend.”

“Will your parents be upset if you don’t get married?” Phil asks carefully, thinking that may be the reason for the agreement.

“Something like that.”

Sending an end to the conversation, Phil exhales loudly. “Well, we’ve got a week until we ship overseas for jump training. I’m willing to spend this weekend in a town we never visited before.”

Dan looks over at him, a bright smile stretching across his face. “Let’s give the locals hell.”

“Dan,” Phil rolls his eyes, but follows when he stands up to return his tray, his weekend pass folded in his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Visit me on tumblr! I’m @nice-laugh-phil

**Author's Note:**

> I will try to update this on as routine of a schedule as possible (probably once a week)! Visit me over on tumblr @nice-laugh-phil


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